


Real Child of Hell

by brodylover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Rape, Flashbacks, Hell, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Rape/Non-con References, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brodylover/pseuds/brodylover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a flashback of Hell and reenacts it on Cas and Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam was tired, too tired, and he could see that he wasn't the only one. Dean was dragging his steps, his attention on his feet and Castiel's bright blue eyes had grown dark, the heavy lids sliding over them. The angel was almost completely human now and it hurt Sam to see him this way. Angels never needed to sleep, yet Castiel was about to collapse from exhaustion.   
They'd been running for so long, fighting so much, never with the time to rest or fully heal in between. None of them were really able to keep going, not without a break at least.  
They had just entered their motel room and Castiel was heading to one of the beds. It was supposed to be Sam's bed, it was his turn to not sleep on the floor, but the larger Winchester didn't really care. Of all of them, he was in the best condition.   
He stopped, confused. He turned, seeing his brother stand there. There was sweat on Dean's brow as he stood in the doorway, unmoving. His green eyes were wide, too wide and the irises twitches as if in REM sleep.  
Dean ran along the corridors of Hell, the rusted nails that made up the ground digging through what was left of his shoes, the fish hooks hanging from the ceiling reaching for the exposed flesh of his arms. He still wasn't sure if he was really out, really free of his tormenters, or if this was some new, cruel torture.   
He could more sense the demons at his heels than see them and he turned, his fist travelling along with his spin, the momentum pushing the fist forward. It struck one demon in the face, pushing him off quickly.  
Castiel ran up to Dean, trying to figure out what was wrong. He pushed Sam out of the way, knowing that whatever was happening, it was going to be dangerous. He'd have to push sleep out of the way as well for now. He touched Dean's shoulder, but received only a fist in his face for his attempt to calm the man. The pain was excruciating and he could immediately feel the capillaries expand.   
Looking up into his eyes, he knew that it wasn't actually Dean inside that head.  
Another one was at his back, but it was too fast. It wrapped his arms around him, one around his throat. He had to get out. He had to get out of Hell. Nothing could stop him.   
He grabbed the demon by the throat, using his own arm to push the choking hold out of the way. He turned the creature, pressing his fingers into his throat before he threw the demon back. He was stronger that the demon and it fell, its head cracking against the bloodstained wall.  
Sam tried to get a hold on his brother as Castiel clutched at his jaw, still reeling from the blow. He grabbed Dean from behind, his arms wrapped around his shoulders, tight enough to hold him, but not enough to hurt. It wasn't enough though, as Dean turned, breaking his hold as if it were easy and wrapping one hand around his throat. Sam struggled, the fingers digging into his windpipe.   
Then he was falling back, Dean having pushed him hard. His momentum was more than his long frame could control and he tripped over his own feet, his head crashing into the wall behind him. Everything immediately went black.  
There were demons everywhere now, surrounding him. He couldn't get out, not like this. There were far too many. His heart sank.  
Alastair smiled as he stepped towards Dean, his razor still in hand and blood drenching his hands. He had just come from torturing some poor soul; the sound of Dean's fighting having brought all of them to him.   
"Dean." He sang, "Dean, Dean, Dean. My little pet project. You seem to have found a way out of your… rehabilitation."  
Dean choked out the demon's name, still trying to sound impressive after all of this time.   
He rushed forward, not giving the demon the opportunity to strike first. Alastair was only able to raise his razor by the time that Dean was upon him. He pressed his fist into the demon's face, knocking him to the ground. The other demon's stood to the side, watching. Maybe they all wanted a piece of Alastair as well.   
Another punch landed in Castiel's face, knocking him to his knees. His head was starting to get loopy.   
He threw another.  
Castiel looked into Dean's eyes as best he could, but it was getting hard to focus.   
The razor was on the ground. Finally, Dean would be able to inflict some damage back. His smile stretched across his face. He picked it up in his hand, toying with it.   
Castiel's eyes widened in fear, a new sensation.  
Dean's work was subtle but fast and deep. He threw the razor to the ground once he was done with it, no longer needing it.   
His hands wrapped around Alastair's throat, every inch covered. He squeezed. The demon gasped and his fingers clawed at Dean's wrists, trying to pry the fingers from him. His eyes were rolling back in his head as he choked and coughed, trying to force any air into his own lungs.  
Darkness was taking over Castiel's vision. He starved for air, every muscle; every part of him was cold and aching, trying to keep going. He reached out, his fingers holding onto Dean's strong arms as he held him there.   
"It's…alright." Castiel coughed, the blood running down his face, "I…I'm here. For you…Dean…"  
Dean's eyes were unmoving, other than the shifting of the irises. The green was too bright, the life in them too wrong.  
"Please… Dean…" his voice was just a growl, quiet and forced, "Hell…is over…be at peace."  
Nothing.  
"Dean…" he was losing now, his eyes too hard to open. His grip loosened before dropping. "Come back… you're stronger… than Hell…"  
Dean stood, staring down at his handy work. His hands shook before he let go of the thin neck he'd been strangling. This was Hell. He was surrounded by demons. Still, this wasn't Alastair who fell, unconscious, into his lap, broken and bruised, dark bruises in his neck.   
Castiel.  
"Cas?" he pleaded, shaking the unconscious angel's shoulders lightly. There wasn't any movement from his friend, who had blood streaming from a multitude of wounds. "Oh God, Cas, come on."   
They were back in the motel room, a gaudy place with peacock wallpaper. He touched Castiel's face, leading his fingers along the stubbly jaw and raising his face to his own.   
"I did this. Oh God. I'm so sorry, Cas." Please, wake up."  
Castiel gasped and then his breathing became more regular, hard and fast as he tried to catch up. He was still mostly unconscious, but there was a small amount of movement, as if he were fighting it.   
"Sam?" Dean called out, needing his brother's guidance. When there was no reply, he looked around, finding Sam lying far behind him, his back against a wall with blood dripping from a wound at the back of his head.  
What had he done? He'd thought that he was back in Hell and he'd attacked both of his brothers. Neither one of them had even fought back it seemed. They had just been beaten by him, letting him relive his torture on them.   
He was a monster, a real monster, worse than what they fought. He wiped the tears from his eyes, still too proud to let his emotions show.   
Castiel shifted in his lap. Without thinking, Dean touched him his fingers delicately touching the angel's shoulder blades. The angel coughed and a spray of blood stained Dean's shirt. Just how much damage had he dealt?  
He lifted Castiel off of him, looking the angel down. There were long red gashes through the white shirt and the pale skin underneath, but that wasn't too big of an issue. The real problem was Dean's knife, still stabbed deep into Castiel's side.   
He reached forward, touching the handle of the blade softly, hoping to tease it out of the flesh, but he stopped, Castiel gasping in pain as he touched it. He had to leave it.   
He wrapped his arms around Castiel once more, but even more carefully, ignoring the painful cries of his friend. He carried him to one of the beds, leaving him there in his agony. He wanted to do something for him, to help him, but there was nothing.   
He turned, giving his attention back to Sam.   
"He'll be fine." Castiel gurgled, "Concussion."  
Dean grabbed the phone, dialing 911 before really thinking. He didn't have the equipment or the skill to care for either one of them. He'd have to trust the authorities on this one. Castiel kept his cold blue eyes on him, trying to keep from losing consciousness once more.  
"Police Dispatch, what's your emergency?" asked a female voice.  
"Hello?" Dean forced a thick, but poor, Hispanic accent, "I am room service at Super 8. I was cleaning room? Find two men. Both seriously hurt. I need ambulance."  
"Alright, what's the room number?"  
"Uh, 213." Dean reached out to Castiel, wanting to comfort him as best he could, but the angel flinched, afraid of the contact from his hand.   
He had really made a mess of things.  
"And who is this?"  
Name. Dean needed a name.  
"Tito." He coughed.  
"Is there a last name Tito?"  
"Fuentes."  
There was a pause.  
"You're name is Tito Fuentes. Like the musician?"  
"Si."  
"Alright Tito, help is on the way. Just stay there, alright?"  
He set the phone down and looked once more at Castiel. The fact that he'd flinched at the idea of his touch, just how bad was he? How afraid were his friends of him now? There was no way he could ever fix it.   
He threw on his coat and left, hearing the sirens in the distance.


	2. The Cost of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a lot further with another flashback

In Hell, sex is nothing more than a weapon. Alastair had been quick to teach Dean that. It was a weapon used against him for thirty years and a weapon used by him for ten. There was no emotion there, no care, no feelings of passion for the user, only blood, pain, humiliation, and psychological torment for the victim.  
Castiel groaned, his face pressed up against the motel wall. He reached out for Sam with his mind before cursing himself, unable to find him, which was strange. Maybe he had found some spell that shielded him, or maybe he had gone back to drinking demon blood, something that Castiel could never see him while he committed the sin. He shifted his weight, trying to knock Dean off of him, but nothing was working.   
He'd needed Dean to help him stop one of the seals from breaking. He'd come in unannounced, as he always had. Instead of finding the Winchesters ready to go, awake and polishing their guns, he'd found only one, Dean, and he was fast asleep. Castiel watched him for a while, curious as to what he was dreaming about. He wanted to reach in, see the dream for himself, as angels never had their own dreams, not needing to sleep, but he knew that Dean didn't like the idea of him "poking around his head".  
So he stood and watched.  
After only a few minutes though it was clear that this was no dream, but a nightmare, one that he could stop. He stepped over to Dean's side and reached out, ready to touch the speckled skin and chase the dreams away, but he hesitated. The dreams were so loud, they shocked his fingers and he made a small, strangled sound of surprise.   
Looking at the seared skin of his fingers, he gave up on fighting his curiosity, looking into Dean's mind for only a second. But the mind wasn't Dean's. It was the mind of a demon, with rape, blood, and torture spilling through it. He pulled out as fast as he could, but it wasn't fast enough. He'd been sensed.   
'Dean' woke up with a punch and it knocked Castiel to the ground.   
Castiel tried to turn the fall into a spin, to right himself before the next hit came, but he was woozy, spots in front of his eyes, and there was a stream of blood coming from his nose.   
'Dean' grabbed him by his short dark hair, wrenching him upwards and his back arched with the movement. He had to remember, that was all. If he remembered all would be alright. He was not his vessel; he and Jimmy were different people. This was happening to someone else. As long as he remembered that, it could not hurt him.   
He called out Dean's name, trying to draw him out of the flashback, but he wasn't listening. He wasn't there. He was in Hell. Castiel was rammed into the wall of the motel and he gasped at the contact. He could still feel what was happening to him. His head was pulled back then forced forward again and it was getting hard for the angel to see around the dancing specks of darkness that were trying to cloud his vision.   
Then there was pain as 'Dean' roughly grabbed his wrists, wrenching them behind him in a way that threatened to dislocate his shoulders. Something cold and sharp was being wrapped around them and Castiel winced as the thorns cut him. Why did the Winchesters even have barbed wire lying around?  
"You're nothing." 'Dean' whispered sweetly, his body so close to Castiel that he could feel his heat through his multitude of layers. His mouth was so close to his ear that he could feel the lips brushing against them. "You're a pathetic worm and you are here for your sins. The only way to repent is through blood. But don't worry; I can help you with that. That's why I'm here."  
He clutched Castiel's overcoat in one hand, his hunting knife in the other. As the fabric was too thick to be ripped off, his shoulders pulled from their sockets as 'Dean' tried, he ended up cutting it off of him instead. After that he cut off his blazer and ripped his shirt from his body. The sleeves and fronts remained, only the backs ripped to shreds.   
"You are not in Hell, Dean." Castiel grunted, trying to reason with the hunters as he ran the cold metal against the smooth skin of Jimmy Novak, "You are here. I am your ally. You do not want to do this."  
The knife went through the flesh easily, as if it were the same as the fabric. Castiel gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself from screaming in the agony that the hunter was inflicting. If he screamed it would only make all of this more real for the human. That wasn't something that Castiel could afford.  
He wasn't Jimmy Novak, he was an angel of the lord. None of this was happening to him.   
The pain slowly faded. He had been in the human's skin for too long, it was getting hard to believe that the skin didn't belong to him. That made it so he could feel everything. He had to separate himself from all of this.   
The knife slipped and slided through his skin, 'Dean' smiling as he sliced. Castiel wanted to stop all of this. It was too hard to focus on not being there. He could fight Dean, push him off of him and fight for his usual dominance, but there was too strong a chance that he would hurt the hunter. It had taken him so long to win the Winchesters' trust and if he fought back, not only could he kill the delicate human, but that trust would be lost forever.   
He'd have to take this and just wait.  
His blue eyes burst open as a cry tumbled from his chapped lips. 'Dean' had gone inside of him and the shock of it had made him lose focus on being somewhere else. The hunter's fingers climbed through the bloody holes that he'd carved into his back, scraping against muscles, bone, and organs.   
He gritted his teeth and tried to turn, not sure how much more of this he could take. He wanted to push 'Dean' off of him, wanting to be done with this, but as he looked at the fogged over green eyes of someone who wasn't even there, his hair was once again grabbed and his face smashed into the wall a few times. He called out once more, his bones breaking and the skin swelling as the wall dented from the contact.  
"You deserve this." 'Dean' growled, wrenching back on Castiel's hair making him moan as his neck arched painfully, "Everything I give you, every bit of pain, it is nowhere near what you deserve."  
The bloodied fingers left Castiel's hair and he gasped for air, his overstretched neck hanging forward. 'Dean' wasn't touching him at all for now and he was both grateful and worried at the same time. Dean may have returned, the flashback over, but there was no sound coming from him. It could have been much worse though, 'Dean' could have been looking for a new tool to play with.  
A zipper was unzipped and Castiel tensed up. He had seen Dean's mind, saw what his flashback consisted of. He knew what was coming. The hunter returned to him and pressed himself against the angel's bleeding back, making him bite his chapped lips as the fire grew in his wounds. 'Dean's' fingers were working on his belt, trying to pull it off of him. His eyes clenched tight. He didn't want this.  
Again, he thought of pushing 'Dean' off of him, beating him until he broke from the flashback, but he didn't. He couldn't. If he hurt Dean he would never be forgiven and all of his hard work would be for nothing.   
He could feel a hardness behind him and he tried to keep breathing, tried to stay there. He could feel everything. He wanted to flee.   
"Dean!" he shouted, trying one last time to get Dean to wake up, "It's me, Cas! You don't want to do this!"  
And then, Castiel was doing something he never thought he would, "Please, Dean. Please. I'm begging you here. I don't want to have to hurt you."  
"You're going to beg to me?" 'Dean' mocked his victim, who wasn't Castiel. The angel had to remember that, "You're going to have to do so much better than that. See, this is my job and I, I like my job."  
Castiel hanged his head, biting his lip and waiting. He couldn't fight him, without the ability to touch him, bring his two long fingers to Dean's head, he was useless.  
The door slammed open and Castiel turned, both grateful that someone had come, someone who would know what to do, and horrified. Being caught like this, even as an angel with no real emotions, it was embarrassing. He should have been able to take care of himself, especially when it was against one solitary human.  
"Dean!" Sam roared and he bolted forward, grabbing Dean by the shoulders and throwing him off of Castiel. They were both still wearing their pants at least but Castiel had needed the older Winchester to keep standing upright. He'd lost so much blood and his mind was still foggy from the bashing his head had taken, so, scrabbling at the wall for support, he fell to the ground.   
Sam ignored his brother, grabbing the angel instead. His hands were warm as they held onto him, and Castiel could feel his strength and care. He'd always paid more attention to Dean, but here, it was Sam that he needed, Sam who cared for him. He'd have to pay more attention to the younger of the hunters.   
Sam untangled the barbed wire from the angel's wrists, asking, begging, him to be alright.  
"I will be." was all that Castiel muttered before being helped to his feet and, when they couldn't support him, carried to the bed that Dean had crashed into. The hunter was sitting beside it, dazed, fighting the flashback to come back to reality.  
Castiel hissed as he was laid back on his bleeding back and he reached for his grace, ready to heal himself. Sam placed on hand on his quivering chest, feeling the racing heart underneath and looked at him with his almost constantly pleading eyes, "Don't heal yet." He begged, "Please. Dean needs to see this."  
Castiel nodded although he did not understand.  
Sam grabbed Dean by the fabric of his shirt, easily lifting him to his feet. Dean gasped as his eyes cleared, looking around himself as if he didn't know where he was and, actually, he had no clue. Seconds before he was back in Hell, torturing some poor soul and now he'd been wrenched into a moderately priced motel.  
His face was too close to Sam's for comfort as the younger insulted the older, "This has gone too far Dean! You need to deal with this! I know you've been having nightmares, they're been happening for weeks, but I didn't say anything. No, I know you don't like talking about this stuff but I cannot stand by when you do stuff like this!"  
Dean stared at him, no idea what he's talking about but he sees his hazel eyes, see the pain in them as he isn't even looking at Dean, but at something else behind him.   
Dean turned, looking over his shoulder to see what Sam was seeing.   
He gasped as his eyes fell onto the angel, who was fighting to stay conscious. His face was a multitude of bruising, purples and greens clouding the swollen mess that blocked out the features all on one side. He was disheveled, his clothing torn and cut apart. Dean pulled himself from Sam's grasp as he threw himself onto the bed, rushing to Castiel's side. Only then did he see the bloodied mess of the bed.  
"Oh God." He croaked, "Did I do this?"  
He reached for the angel, hoping to sooth him, to comfort him, but Castiel flinched at the approaching fingers, and he stopped, not needing any more of an answer. There were tears rolling down his face.   
"I can heal your mind." Castiel offered, not wanting to see Dean cry, not over something that wasn't his fault and especially when it was something that could be fixed so easily, "I can keep the dreams away."  
Dean bit his own lip and turned away, trying to regain his composure, "I can't. I have to work through this on my own. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I did this to you. I just. I can't. I don't want you in my head. I don't want you to see anymore of this.  
Castiel reached forward, wanting to sooth Dean the way that the hunter had tried to sooth him, even though he didn't know what that entailed. He just wanted the hunter to stop feeling so weak and to understand that he wasn't alone. His dislocated shoulder screamed at him and he stopped, whimpering, his arm falling back to the bed. His fingers weakly grazed past Dean's and the hunter was flooded with a whole new wave of guilt over what he had done.   
"Sam." Castiel looked past the guilt ridden man and at the giant standing at the foot of the bed, "If this happens again. Don't let Dean touch you. Call me. I can heal, I'll take the punches."  
Both Winchester's stared at him, hoping, Hell, praying, that they had heard wrong. The angel just stared at them, his eyes leaving Sam's hazel ones and sticking to Dean's green ones and just for a second, the tortured hunter thought he saw a shadow of pitying smile on the soldiers face.


End file.
